"But maybe he was bad, Michael, maybe it was rightTo kill the inimy you hate in fair and honest fight. . . ."

"I did not hate at all, mother; he never did me harm;I think he was a lad like me, who worked upon a farm. . . ."

"And what's it all about, Michael; why did you have to go,A quiet, peaceful lad like you, and we were happy so? . . ."

"It's thim that's up above, mother, it's thim that sits an' rules;We've got to fight the wars they make, it's us as are the fools. . . ."

"And what will be the end, Michael, and what's the use, I say,Of fightin' if whoever wins it's us that's got to pay? . . ."

"Oh, it will be the end, mother, when lads like him and me,That sweat to feed the ones above, decide that we'll be free. . . ."

"And when will that day come, Michael, and when will fightin' cease,And simple folks may till their soil and live and love in peace? . . ."

"It's coming soon and soon, mother, it's nearer every day,When only men who work and sweat will have a word to say;When all who earn their honest bread in every land and soilWill claim the Brotherhood of Man, the Comradeship of Toil;When we, the Workers, all demand: `What are we fighting for?' . . .Then, then we'll end that stupid crime, that devil's madness -- War."